


Super Rich Kids

by girlinterrupted



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlinterrupted/pseuds/girlinterrupted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rich are thought to have everything they could ever want or ever need; however, Harry Styles is dissatisfied with his life as a super rich kid unfazed by drugs, alcohol, and sex. Liam isn’t like everyone else, though, and Harry can’t help but to notice it. Their summer spent together completely alters their lives and makes them realize that love will always matter more than the money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sadistic, Yet Brilliant

**Author's Note:**

> Another song inspired fic; give super rich kids by Frank Ocean a listen <3 xx

The sunlight cascaded through the designer curtains his mother had bought. They were expensive, and elegant, but incredibly ineffective. One of his eyes opened slightly, and with that submission to the sunlight, he realized there was no hope of him going back to sleep that morning. Completely naked, he rose from bed to open the curtains and look out over his kingdom. The manicured lawn seemed to go on forever, and from the hilltop the house was placed on, he could see the city down below. Often he wondered what it was like to live somewhere other than that hilltop.

He wondered what it was like to have parents that were around, and he wondered what it was like to have cheap curtains. His tattooed body was proof of his parent’s negligence. They didn’t care so long as he wasn’t dead. It was completely up to Harry to decide what he wanted to do with his body, and his money, and his time.

After pulling some underwear on, he went out his window to climb up to the roof of his parent’s massive home. Every morning, he stood out on the roof. Feeling the summer sun beating down on his tired limbs made him smile, if only for a minute. There was a slight breeze that morning: one that made a couple of the hairs on his arms stand up. The view from his window could never compare to the view from the top of that house. He closed his eyes and held his arms out, feeling every inch of skin being kissed by sunlight and summer breezes.

Every day he thought about jumping, and every day he convinced himself not to. It was the greatest favor he ever did himself. Usually he talked himself out of it by reminding himself that so-and-so’s birthday was next week or that there was still that one book he wanted to read. That morning it was easy to tell himself no, but the days when it rained it was much harder to convince himself: imagine, he thought, the poetry of a suicide on a rainy morning. Sighing a little, he opened his eyes as if bringing himself back to life.

The rest of the morning was spent flipping through the channels of his enormous television. Maids worked around him and said nothing but “Good morning, Mr. Styles.” There could be countless workers on that property: maids, butlers, landscapers, etc, but it would still feel empty. He felt like they were ghosts, those people. They were always around yet never quite there. Their eyes looked off into some other place, hoping, praying, and waiting for the future to be more than cleaning the house of the richest family in town. Their eyes were empty yet filled to the brim with hopes for the future, and Harry never understood that.

Living for the future was such a foreign concept to him. Every moment of his life he had spent in the present and dreading what was to come. The future was a place where things got worse than they were. The future was the place where he would have to start working at his dad’s company and marry some trophy wife with a veneer smile. He hated it more than he hated himself and his parents. He hated what he was destined to become, and he hated the people who hated him for it.

Reality had been enough for the day. For the duration of a good ten minutes, he rolled a perfectly manicured joint. He took pride in making them as pretty as he could on the outside; it was as if he was hiding how ugly they were on the inside. A girl he used to get high with told him that his eyes were the color of marijuana; he stopped getting high with her after that. Bringing the familiar to taste to his lips, he inhaled deep, held it, then blew the smoke out. The room was filled with the familiar odor, and his mouth was filled with the familiar taste. He sat like that for awhile, staring at the ceiling, puffing on his joint.

Liam had always been fascinated by Harry Styles, and at times it seemed like the entire world was fascinated by him too. Word traveled fast in their community, and words about rich, seventeen-year-old playboys traveled even faster than the average gossip. Everyone knew who he was, and everyone knew he was bad news. It wasn’t unlike Harry to be involved with girls, and boys too. It wasn’t unlike Harry to have a new girl or boy every week. They were replaced just as quickly as his expensive cars and watches. Liam admired that Harry seemed to see through everyone; somehow Harry knew they were fake and were using him, so he used them right back.

It was sadistic yet brilliant, and as much as everyone told him to avoid Harry at all costs, Liam couldn’t. He wouldn’t, especially when Harry texted him to come over that afternoon. For a half hour, he changed his clothes maybe over a hundred times. Nothing looked right, and nothing felt right. If he were going, he had to look presentable. Smiling, he adjusted his blazer a little. That navy blue blazer fit just right, but he didn’t bother shaving. He assumed he looked cooler when he looked a bit rougher. All he wanted was for Harry to think he was cool.

The massive door to the Styles’ home was opened for him by a feeble looking woman. She said nothing; she just opened the door and let him in. He wondered how many boys and girls she had seen come and go. It struck him that he wanted to be the only one walking through that door. Harry hadn’t bothered putting on anything more than his boxer shorts. His curly hair was a bit shaggy and fell into his eyes a little. A small smile came over his face. It wasn’t like he was helpless without someone to save him from himself, he just preferred the company.

Without even a hello, Harry’s lips crashed against his. He tasted the smoke on his tongue, and he knew what it was without asking. It wasn’t like Liam smoked, but he knew the smell. It was impossible to have a social life anymore without being offered pot every couple days, or at least, it was impossible with the friends he had…if they could be thought of as friends at all. The kiss was out of the ordinary, and shocked him so much that he pulled away, “What are you doing?”

Harry laughed a little and put his hand on Liam’s shoulder, “Nothing, just forget it.” His eyes were a bit red, and Liam could tell he was high. For a minute, he regretted coming. Maybe he should have listened when everyone told him Harry Styles wasn’t up to any good, and he should have believed them when they said he wanted nothing but sex. With a body like that though, it made it hard to listen.

“Come with me,” Harry said, running his hand down Liam’s arm before grabbing onto his hand. Something about Liam was different, and it was nice. His brown eyes weren’t filled with hopes for the future; he was there, in that moment. Even through Harry’s haze he could see that. He could see the reflection of himself in those eyes, and if the truth were to be told, he’d been waiting so long to bring Liam to his house. It wasn’t until word slipped out, from one of Liam’s drunken friends, that Liam had been waiting on that invitation too. There was some sort of worry there, and there was some sort of fear.

He’d never been scared of a boy before, or anyone really. After internally blaming it on the drugs, he lightly pulled Liam along. Every single room seemed to hold a different brooding face, and everywhere he went there was another ghost. Ghosts were in the people who worked in that house, and ghosts were in the pictures too. Harry’s parents were nowhere to be found. They were the only ghosts who ever escaped the Styles estate.

“Where are your parents?” Liam asked with one eyebrow cocked. They were just seventeen, and he didn’t think someone could be so responsible over themselves. His parents were always home and always wondering where he was going or where he had been. He had lied to them about being where he was, and it gave him an awfully large rush to have lied. It was just a white lie; he assured himself that it was the first and last time he would lie. Once they got to know Harry, they wouldn’t mind.

Without even thinking, he answered, “Business trip.” He maintained an aura of never caring where his parents were. They never cared where he was, so he made a point of acting like he never cared where they were. All they’d do is transfer money into his account and make sure the help was paid. They were hardly parents at all.

Liam felt as though he had gone through a hundred rooms by then. Each one was meticulously decorated and perfectly clean. It really would have been quite stunning if he wasn’t so stunned by the feeling of his hand being held. He was almost positive that his hand was becoming sweaty and clammy; if the nervousness of holding his hand wasn’t enough, the nervousness of his hands becoming clammy was. It was driving him crazy; the more he worried about clammy hands the more clammy his hands became.

Harry had opened his last door; it was the indoor pool house. The water was heated and the most exceptional shade of blue. Liam could feel the pit of his stomach doing twists and flips as he watched him. After letting go of Liam’s hand, he had walked towards the pool, dropped his boxers to the ground, and smirked back at him. If his hands weren’t sweating before, they were sweating now.

“Well,” Harry said, slipping into the water, “You coming?”

Maybe he should have said no and went home, but he didn’t want to say no. It was the first act of many that changed Liam’s life. Knowing Harry Styles was an adventure in itself, and maybe if he had known how it all would end, he would have turned around. He didn’t know though. All he knew was the way Harry looked with no pants on and the burning feeling in his belly.

“Yeah,” he answered, ignoring the words of advice from his friends and family, “I’m coming.” He pulled his shirt and blazer off and tossed them aside. That was the easy part. It took every ounce of courage in him, but he brought himself to take off his pants. All the while, green eyes met brown eyes. Harry’s dimpled grin was beckoning him to that spectacularly blue water. He smiled back and kicked those pants aside before slipping into the water.

Their bodies were now so close that Harry could see the way beads of water gathered on Liam’s skin. It made him all the more glad that he had jumped in. “You know, Liam,” Harry brought himself closer, almost close enough to touch, “You’re very handsome.”  
  
Liam smirked and took a couple steps back, “You’re going to need to work a little harder than that, Styles.”


	2. A Step Closer

Harry cocked an eyebrow out of confusion. No one had ever resisted him before, and no one had ever told him, of all things, to work harder. He’d never worked for anything before in his life; everything was handed to him, yet here was Liam, telling him he needed to work harder. The more time he spent in his presence, the more intriguing he became. Liam was unlike the girls and the boys of the past, and he refused to be conquered so easily. The chase was thrilling. He smirked a little, “Alright,” he said, “What do I have to do?”  
  
No one had ever held him in the palm of their hand before. It didn’t feel like all that bad of a place to be. Maybe it made him care about something, and maybe that’s why he appreciated it so much. It hurt to spend your entire life pretending, and forcing, a mask of not caring. Not caring was an art, and he had perfected it with every missed birthday and ignored call from his parents. Seventeen years old, and they never took more than ten minutes to get to know their bouncing baby boy. No matter how hard he tried and no matter how long he searched the corners of his mind, he couldn’t hear either of their voices saying ‘I love you Harry.’ They were genetically engineered to love him, yet they didn’t.

He was sure no one ever could, yet somehow the feeling of the wind on a sunny morning kept him alive.

Liam waded over to the other side of the pool, “I’ve got a game to play,” he said, all the while looking mischievous. Harry liked that look, and he liked a good game. Liam continued to speak, “I’m going to ask you 10 questions, and if I like your answer, I’ll take a step closer to you…” He bit his lip, all the sudden becoming nervous behind that scheming exterior, “If I reach you before you run out of questions, you can use all the ‘you’re so handsome’ lines you want and kiss me all you want.”  
  
Harry scoffed, leaning up against the pool walls with his outstretched arms resting on the ledge, exposing all of his tattooed chest. The high was wearing off, and the haze was starting to be lifted. With newfound clarity, the way Liam looked without a shirt on was positively criminal. Even his reflection in the water was beautiful. “I just get to kiss you? Doesn’t seem like much of a fair game to me, Liam. You _are_ completely naked in my pool.” The look on his face was dangerously sexy, and it was all Liam could do to keep himself together.

Liam crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to appear stern. The act was mostly to keep himself from being caught shaking; he was so nervous to be the receiver of that look of Harry’s. “Are you going to complain, or play with me?” He asked.

“I suppose I have no choice but to play, if I’m ever going to kiss you again.”

It wasn’t like Liam to kiss someone he didn’t really know; all he knew was what he had been told. Everyone always had something new to say, and all he wanted to know was the truth. He wanted to know every little thing about the curly-haired boy with dimples. If the truth was to be told now, maybe his body wouldn’t burn with guilt later on over indulging in the flesh of someone he didn’t know. He had a horrible habit of being the least experienced and least daring person in the room. His parents said it made him sensible, and everyone else made him feel like it made him boring. Harry was the least boring person in the entire world, and if Harry wanted him around, maybe he wasn’t so boring after all.

“When is your birthday?” Liam asked.

“February 1st.” Harry answered and smiled when Liam took one step closer to him.

“Who’s your best friend?”

After a moment of silence, Harry answered truthfully, “I don’t have any real friends.” He assumed Liam wouldn’t take a step; he knew he was pathetic, and he knew it was an outrageous concept to everyone else that he would be lonely. What he didn’t know was that Liam understood because he really didn’t feel like he had any friends either. They were both so tragically alone, yet neither could recognize it in the other. He took another step.

“How many people have you slept with?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry bit his lip when he answered, and Liam didn’t take a step.

“Why did you invite me to your house?”

“Because I didn’t want to be alone, and I think you’re fascinating.” Another step was taken closer to him. Harry was thankful for Liam’s large stride.

“Why do you think I’m fascinating?”   
  
“You’re the only person who’s ever made me work this hard for a kiss.” Harry laughed a little and couldn’t help but to focus on Liam’s upturned lips as he took another step closer.

“Is it worth it?” Liam let out a tiny laugh and his smile grew a little wider. He was half way across the pool.

“Absolutely.” Harry smiled in return. It wasn’t a devious, scheming, sexy smile. It was this sweet and genuine smile that was more stunning than any other smile Liam had ever seen before. That smile was real. He took another step, this time making his step even larger. The smile on Harry’s face, he would have argued, deserved a bigger step.

“What’s your favorite animal?”  
  
“Turtles.” Another step was taken.

“What’s your favorite color?”

His body was merely a step away, and Harry answered, “Orange and blue.” Those brown eyes looked into his green eyes, but those feet didn’t move that body any closer to his. “I don’t even get a step on my favorite color?” He laughed, pulling Liam in closer, refusing to play the game any longer. Their foreheads were pressed to each other, and those brown eyes burned. His whole body burned from honesty. The warmth of the heated water in that pool couldn’t compare to the heat of Liam’s body against his.

Liam shrugged a little and teased him, “You can’t pick two colors, that’s not how favorites work.”

Harry ignored his cheeky comment and pressed their lips together. This kiss, more than any other kiss before, he felt he deserved. He deserved the feeling of colliding soft paper-thin skin. Liam’s lips were sweeter than he had ever imagined, and he slipped his tongue across them, just to be sure of their sweetness. His hands wrapped around Liam’s waist and pulled him closer. Liam pulled away a little bit, nervous, and ashamed of how hard he had become. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, and it internally worried him how crestfallen he was when Liam pulled away. “I’m sorry, I’ll answer any question you want, just come back over here.”  
  
It was incredibly difficult for him to say it, but Liam said it anyways, “I’m not going to have sex with you today, Harry.” 

Although his entire body was aching and he wanted to fuck Liam so badly, he accepted it. He nodded slightly and put up his hands, as if surrendering, “If we put clothes on, can I please just kiss you again?” He would have given up sex for weeks just to taste those lips again. It was incredibly strange, this feeling inside him, that didn’t feel so much like loneliness. He thought of the girl who had told him his eyes were the color of marijuana, and he knew Liam would never say that. He hadn't wondered why he knew he wouldn’t, but instead he wondered what color they were to Liam. He hoped Liam had colored him beauitful. Liam nodded slightly to answer him. The relief he felt was unrivaled. He’d screwed up anything and everything before, and all the time he had spent not caring had freed him up to spend a lot of time wishing for someone just like this.

He’d spent so much time wishing for someone who would call him out on his shit and make him care. All he wanted was for someone to care enough to make him care, and those big brown eyes made him care more than he was even comfortable with.

Harry pulled himself out of the pool, grabbed a towel off a rack, dried himself off and put his boxers back on. Liam followed his example and did the same. Harry's hard-on was still evident, and he pretended not to notice Liam’s. It took every ounce of his self-control to pretend not to notice. He folded his hands, one in the other, in front of himself and looked over at Liam. His eyes begged for one more kiss from abnormally sweet lips. He wished he knew how to apologize for being the person he was, but he didn’t know how.

Having seen enough sad green eyes to last a lifetime, Liam walked over to Harry, wrapped his arms around his neck, and planted another kiss on his lips. Never before had he been so nervous and never before had his hands been more clammy, but he would have hated himself forever if he hadn’t let himself get wrapped up in all of Harry Styles’ perfect words and perfect looks. This boy was a tornado, and Liam had ignored all of the sirens. Liam had heard every time his subconscious had told him to stop being brave and stop being a storm chaser, but he felt like he was hundreds of miles from the eye of the storm. He thought he was safe. He thought, maybe if he said no and made Harry work for him, that he’d keep himself from being completely destroyed.

Harry Styles wasn’t going to ruin him, just make him more interesting.


	3. What a Surprise

It became somewhat habitual: Liam’s presence in his life now. Each day, Harry would wake up, stretch himself out, stand on the roof, then call Liam and beckon him to the house again. There was something intriguing about the other boy, and Harry found himself continuously wanting to be wrapped up in him. Constantly, he would poke his face, touch his hair, or stare at his lips until he’d realize how badly Harry wanted a kiss. More often than not, he was staring at those lips. They had become accustomed to each other’s existence. Liam dealt with Harry’s constant shenanigans, and Harry dealt with Liam’s good boy persona.

Their friendship, above all other friendships, meant everything to Harry. His anxiety was growing worse, and his parents still hadn’t been home. Weeks had passed. He refused to take the Xanax prescribed to him, and instead, he medicated himself with alcohol and marijuana. It was a system he was incredibly used to, but it drove Liam crazy. It was a Friday though, and that could only mean one thing: a Harry Styles house party.

Being in Harry’s house on the weekend was like being in Gatsby’s mansion. Everyone seemed to be an acquaintance of an acquaintance. No one really knew Harry; they just knew there was booze and drugs. Teenagers from towns away would show up just to party every Friday and Saturday. Sometimes people would stay from Friday afternoon until Sunday morning. Harry let them, and the maids would clean around passed out teenagers just as they would clean around him. “Good morning, Mr. Styles,” they would say and go about their business. No one cared what Harry did to himself, and no one even bothered to stop him.

Liam would wander around those parties, not drinking, just observing. He’d tell himself the other four days in the week made up for the Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. He’d tell himself this because, although he fought it as much as he could, he couldn’t imagine a world without Harry now. It felt like his life depended on those morning phone calls, and some nights he would stay up worrying that he wouldn’t receive one the next day.

With a drink in his hand, Liam went from room to room. The drink was to fool everyone; no one bothered to ask you why you weren’t drinking if you carried one in your hand. Everyone just assumed he was drinking, and that’s how Liam liked it. People could think whatever they wanted. It was easier than explaining that he couldn’t drink even if he wanted to. Somewhere between the living room and an office, he bumped into a party attendant, and his drink spilt all over his shirt.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry,” The dark-haired boy who he had collided with turned to face him. His eyes lit up from recognition, and a cigarette balanced between his lips. “Liam! I didn’t know you’d be here.”  
  
It was Zayn, and Liam surely did not know he was going to be there either. With a wet body, he mentally chastised himself for attending this house party. He didn’t even know where Harry was. He never knew where Harry was. “Zayn!” He feigned a friendly smile, “What a surprise! When did you get back in town?”  
  
Zayn was one of Harry’s old flames, and possibly the most serious out of all of them. Harry had been devastated when the Malik family moved two-hundred miles away. It broke his heart, and it made him feel even more alone than he had felt before. It was because of Zayn that Harry started doing drugs, and it was because of Zayn that Harry stopped caring about the people he slept with. Not only could he not rely on his parents to stay around, he couldn’t rely on lovers either. That was over a year ago, and Liam never once thought that he would run into Zayn. He was everything Liam could never be, and as much as he thought he had been protecting himself from caring too much, just seeing someone else who had shared so much with Harry made him uncomfortable.

The cigarette bobbed in his mouth when he smiled brightly, and he was too cross-faded to even notice Liam’s discomfort. “I just got in yesterday, going to be here for a few weeks visiting. You haven’t happened to have seen Harry, have you?”  
  
“No idea where he is mate, sorry about that. I’m going to head out though, it was nice to see you.” Liam replied and walked away from the conversation. Zayn smiled a little more and gave him a brief wave before returning to the conversation he was having previous to the Liam encounter. Liam was polite to a fault, and he wished he wasn’t sometimes. It was all he could do to be mean to someone, and he couldn’t even find the energy to be unpleasant towards Zayn. Other than the drugs, Zayn really was a nice guy. Even through the distinct sting of jealousy, he was happy to know how ecstatic Harry would be to see this long lost love of his again. Zayn was everything Liam wouldn’t be, and he had figured his time was running up. No one gets forever with boys like Harry Styles.

Swinging his keys in his hand, he walked out of the massive house and towards his car. He’d had enough observing and just wanted to go home, change his shirt, curl up in his blankets, and sleep forever. He assumed there wouldn’t be a phone call tomorrow morning; there would be no groggy yet smooth voice on the other end of the line demanding his presence. There wouldn’t be someone who would poke his face anymore, and there wouldn’t be someone always getting him into troublesome situations that he had to lie to his parents about. On his way to his car, he convinced himself that all of these things were good things. Now, he told himself, he could sleep in much later, have a much larger personal bubble, and continue to be the good boy he had always been. The storm had passed, and he had gotten out unharmed.

Harry stood on one of the many balconies of the Styles home with a couple girls he had never seen before. His mind was a little fuzzy, but when he looked out over the property, he could recognize Liam’s body from what felt like miles away. He’d thought about and admired that body too many times to not recognize it, no matter how intoxicated he was. “Liam!” He shouted as loud as he possible could, “Liam! Where are you going?”

The plan for the evening was to fall asleep in those arms, and it was all he wanted right then. The few times he had talked Liam into spending the night had been the best night's sleep he had gotten in months; he’d fall asleep to the feeling of Liam’s fingers tracing the lines of the tattoos on his body. He wished the house was empty. Those girls were boring him half to death, and he wanted everyone else to just disappear as well. He had a reputation to uphold though, and without the parties, he wasn’t quite sure what he meant to anyone.

Liam’s body turned to the sound of that voice, he shouted back, “I’m going home Harry!” He took a breath, “Zayn’s downstairs looking for you!” He hated himself for saying it, but he shrugged, as if it meant nothing at all. Everyone would think what Liam wanted them to think. Wasn’t that what mattered in this town, what everyone else thought? It didn't matter what the truth was anymore.  
  
Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, confused. It had been so long since he had see Zayn. “Okay!” He replied to Liam. That okay stung more than he would have ever intended it to. It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized he should have said anything but okay. He should have said ‘no, don’t go’ or ‘come back’ or ‘I don’t want Zayn, I want you.’ He didn’t say any of that though, so Liam turned around and got into his car and drove home. All the while, Harry Styles excused himself from the balcony girls to find Zayn Malik.


	4. Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings were always the most difficult. His head would pound relentlessly, and more often than not, he would need to wiggle out of the grasp of someone he didn’t quite recognize. When his green eyes fluttered open, he had been expecting to be alone. Although his stomach did flips caused by nausea and his brain felt like it was spinning, he sat up in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. With his phone pressed to his ear, he dialed the same number he had habitually called time and time again before. He hadn’t answered. Despite the hangover, he pulled on some clothes and rushed out of the room There was no time to contemplate death on the roof; he had to see Liam.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to himself as he maneuvered his way to the garage. There were cans and bottles everywhere from the bookcases to the fireplace mantle. It was funny how easily such a perfect and pristine house could be destroyed. He struggled to remember most of the night before. He struggled through the taste of marijuana on his tongue, and struggled through the feeling of his body breaking down.

He struggled through the flashbacks of white powder and green buds. The drugs dominated his memories of the night, and he wished they hadn’t. His nose still felt a little numb, and his heart felt broken. It felt lonely. The passed out people around him looked like they were dead. The red cups were their gravesite roses. Discarded clothing littered his pathway out of the house. It was a wonder none of the clothing was his.

With the keys to the jag in hand, he hopped into his father’s car, pulled on a pair of sunglasses, and peeled out of the garage and driveway. He’d never been to the Payne house before, and he was slightly embarrassed by the way he looked. Liam never had to tell him how his parents felt; he knew. He knew they thought he wasn’t worth anything. That’s what everyone thought. Harry thought it, too. Liam, for some strange reason, made him feel like maybe he was worth more. Some days, it frustrated him to no end that Liam wouldn’t just see him how everyone else did. Liam just wouldn’t be like everyone else, and it made it impossible not to care.

He cared. He cared so much, and he hated every second of caring thoughts, feelings, and words. As much as he hated it though, it gave him more of a reason to climb down from the roof every morning. Liam made it easier to stay alive, and Liam infected his dreams at night. The nightmares he’d grown used to had disappeared. Every dream seemed to revolve around brown eyes and strong morals. It was enough to drive a person into doing something crazy, like falling into love with somebody.

People, he thought, don’t just fall in love in a couple weeks. He was right, too. People don’t just fall in love in a couple weeks, but it had been years that he had watched Liam from afar, wondering. He’d wondered what it was like to talk to him until the sun came up, and he wondered what it was like to go for a walk with him. It was easier to treat people like objects of sexual fantasies, so that’s what he did. He let Liam be Liam, and let him be the kind of guy that deserved better than him.

The red jaguar pulled into the Payne driveway. He trotted up to the front door and rang the door bell all the while hoping for Liam to answer. For twenty minutes, he stood on the doorstep. No one answered. He rang the door bell time and time again. The burning failure of the word ‘okay’ kept him from leaving. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, and he wasn’t okay. Okay was something that only existed when Liam forced him to be a good person. He rang the doorbell again.

A window upstairs opened. “I swear to God if you ring the doorbell one more damn time Styles!” It was Liam, and Harry smiled to himself. He walked backwards into the yard so he could look up at that window. “What do you want, Harry?” He heard Liam sigh. He watched him as he crossed his arms over the window sill and leaned on them.

“Will you go to breakfast with me?” Harry asked. It wasn’t like him to share his emotions, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Liam groaned, “Why don’t you go with Zayn?”  
  
A cheeky grin spread across Harry’s face, “Who’s Zayn?”  
  
“Harry, you’re not funny.” Liam replied, rolling his eyes. Years of confirmed rumors had taught him to always expect the worst from Harry. Innocent until proven guilty was not a phrase that clung to Harry’s past. Guilty until proven innocent was a far more accurate interpretation of his reputation.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging a little, “Zayn’s passed out in my living room with Niall. Just come down here, and we’ll go anywhere you want.” It wasn’t that Zayn hadn’t wanted to crawl into his bed the night before; that wasn’t the case. Harry simply introduced him to Niall instead and left them alone. He knew what he could have had; it could’ve been just like how it used to be. There was nothing inside him that wanted that anymore, though. He couldn’t stand the idea of waking up to the taste of cigarettes. Maybe he was drunk and high and worthless, but he wanted Liam. He went to bed wanting Liam, and he woke up wanting Liam. No white powder or green bud could change that. “I’ve been thinking Liam,” he fidgeted a little, “And I think I’d much rather hang out with you than have a party tonight.”

A small smile formed on Liam’s lips. “I mean, I guess if you’re begging you can hang out with me.” His tired eyes lit up a little. Maybe it was possible for everyone to be wrong about Harry; he was the most unpredictable person in the world. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.” He pulled the window shut and shimmied out of his pajamas and into clothes worthy of leaving the house in.

As he waited outside, Harry fiddled with his hands and tried to shove his hangover out of his consciousness. It was a bit cold outside, for being the middle of summer. His eyes were hidden behind his designer sunglasses, and he was thankful he at least had those to protect himself from the searing pain of sunlight. His head hurt, but his heart didn’t. Three months ago he would have never believed someone if they told him about the person he was becoming. If the future revolved around Liam Payne, maybe the future wasn’t so bad after all.

His dimpled smile spread across his face as he saw the other boy walking out of the house. The half hour wait was well worth watching as Liam’s face transformed from brooding and thoughtful to silly and dorky in two seconds flat; his pouty lips would transform into an earth shattering smile and his eyes would crinkle a little. Only the really genuine smiles made his eyes crinkle. Harry would look to Liam’s eyes to see the truth behind the smiles, and as he walked towards him from the doorstep, those eyes crinkled as those pouty lips became that beautiful smile of his. Smiling at Liam and smiling to himself, Harry put his hands behind his back, standing like little boys do in the presence of their crushes.

Liam smirked a little, putting out his hand. Harry cocked his head to the side to show his confusion, “What?” he asked.

“You owe me. You’ve got to let me drive this thing.” Liam replied, looking as smug as he always did when he tried to be cheeky.

Shaking his head and laughing a little, Harry grabbed that outstretched hand and pulled him in. Their lips met, and as he enjoyed the familiar sweetness of Liam’s lips, his hands slipped down Liam’s back, into the back pockets of his jeans, and he dropped the keys into one of the back pockets. Before pulling away, he lightly bit Liam’s lip and squeezed his ass. Liam let out a small surprised squeak as he did so.

Devilishly smirking, Harry got into the passenger seat of the jag. Liam rolled his eyes, pretending to be unimpressed. “You really think you’re so sexy, don’t you?” He climbed into the driver’s seat. It was the first and last time Liam would ever drive that car.

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, buckling himself in, “I really do.”  
  
Those lips were irresistible, and it was impossible to find him unattractive. Everything about Harry was sexy, or endearing, or fascinating, or altogether wonderfully confusing. He kept everyone guessing who he was and where he was going. Liam thought he really was just so sexy, and every day it became harder and harder to keep himself from pulling his clothes off. He was scared though. He was scared of becoming just like everyone else who had slept with him; what if he was just another conquest? It was awful: never knowing where he stood.

There was no forever to be had, though. The future didn’t belong to them. No matter how much Harry grew fond of the idea of a future with Liam, and no matter how much Liam protected himself and protected _them,_ the future would never arrive. Years later, he would think about Harry and the way those curls fell over his expensive sunglasses, the way his hands found themselves holding each other behind his back, and the way his eyes rested on people’s lips as they spoke. Loving Harry was never a part of the plan, and it was something he tried to protect himself from. With the wind surrounding them as he drove that jag a little too fast, he really didn’t mind falling in love a little.

Harry chose Liam, and that was all that mattered. He pulled into his favorite café and smiled at the boy in the passenger seat. “Have you ever been here before?” He asked.

“This is literally my favorite place,” Harry replied excitedly, “You have no idea how happy I am to be here right now.” Liam did know, though, because he had never been happier to be anywhere before in his entire life.


	5. Two Truths and a Lie

They sat in a cozy booth in the corner of the café. As Liam looked over the menu, Harry tried to look over his, but instead kept looking up at Liam to watch his eyes move over the words and his eyebrows furrow with indecision. He smiled slightly to himself, and closed his menu. There was no real need to look anyways; he always ordered the same thing. Maybe Liam was oblivious, or maybe he was just used to having green eyes locked on him. Because Harry couldn’t help himself but to mess with Liam as he always did, he slipped his arm across the table and poured sugar into Liam’s water glass. It was harmless, but he still thought he was funny.

Liam simply looked up at Harry’s stupid grin, rolled his eyes, and went back to pouring over the menu.

“Let’s play a game,” Harry said, becoming a bit more awake and playful.

With a smug, self-satisfied feeling, Liam replied, “No.” He feigned all the seriousness he could.

“Oh come on, you made me play your game. Now you can play mine.” He whined in return. He stretched his legs out a little to hit Liam’s and attempt to bother him. Liam ignored him, so he leaned across the table and poked his face.

“Are you going to bother me until I agree to play with you?” Liam laughed a little. As much as he wanted to be annoyed, the other boy was just too endearing. With a small smirk, Harry nodded. “Fine, what game do you want to play?” Liam responded, closing his menu, and finally deciding on what he wanted for breakfast.

A small smile played on Harry’s face, “Two truths and a lie. You know, the game where you say two things that are true and one thing that’s a lie and the other person has to guess which ones the lie.” He wasn’t much of a truth-teller, and maybe the one lie he got to tell made telling the two truths much each easier. If anything, he just wanted to know everything about Liam: even the lies.

The waitress appeared at the end of their cozy booth, “Good morning boys, have you decided what you want?” Her smile was chipper and her lip gloss painted on. Even in her bright blue eyes, Harry saw just a hint of the emptiness he saw in everyone else. Some people tried to hide their emptiness, and some people didn’t. This woman had tried to hide it, and she could have fooled just about anyone else. Harry knew emptiness too well to be fooled by painted on smiles, though. Liam was the kind of boy who could be, and Harry found peace in that. They saw what the other couldn’t see in the world.

“Yeah, I would like a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, if that’s alright?” His eyes crinkled when he smiled and told the waitress his order. It made Harry smile to see that smile, especially because it meant that someone could be so genuinely happy and pleased with the idea of chocolate chip pancakes on a Saturday morning. The world wasn’t so awful with Liam in it. The waitress nodded, smiling at Liam’s genuine smile, and Harry knew that she could see it too. He wondered how many people found life in the light emitted from brown eyes.

“What about you?” She asked him, while writing down Liam’s order as if she were scared she would forget on her way to the kitchen. That was impossible when they were the only two people seated in the café. Harry loved that about the place: it was a well kept secret. Not many great things in that town stayed secrets; this café was as priceless as treasure to him.

Harry grinned a bit, handing her the menu as he spoke. “Yeah I’d like a hot chocolate and the house crepes.”  
  
Liam’s eyes got wide, “Oh wait, can I have a hot chocolate too?”  
  
That waitress smiled a little more, thinking him precious. Harry thought he was too, and he didn’t blame her at all. “Yeah, of course. Coming right up, boys.” She took their menus and trotted away.

His hand slipped across the table to wrap around Liam’s. It was if he had to be touching him at all moments of the day. His hands were soft, yet rough. There were some calluses on his palms, and he realized there was more to Liam than softness, puppy dog eyes, crinkly eyes, and sweet smiles. “You go first.”  
  
The feeling of Harry grabbing his hand so publicly and so lightly made his stomach do flips. He thought about his answer for a little bit, and replied, “Alright, I only have one kidney, I’m a pretty decent singer, and I don’t like dogs. So guess, which ones the lie?”  
  
Harry cocked an eyebrow, and his free hand tapped his bottom lip as he thought, “I’m guessing the kidney one is the lie. It seems a little out there.”  
  
Shaking his head, Liam replied, “No you’re wrong. I actually really, really like dogs. Your turn.”

“I have a couple extra nipples, I’m an awful singer, and half of my tattoos have no meaning at all. Which ones the lie?”

“You’re a great singer,” Liam responded simply with a small shrug.

Harry lost the smug look on his face and he looked a bit confused, “How would you know that?”

Liam looked down at the table, fiddling with his silverware. He was a little embarrassed, but he had a small, shy smile on his face. “In the second grade, you sang in the Christmas pageant. I thought you were great, and I thought you were so brave, especially because I was too nervous to sing in front of people.”  
  
Once again, Harry’s free hand slipped across the table. It lifted Liam’s chin, so he could look into brown eyes with all the sincerity in his body, “You are single-handedly the kindest person in the entire world, and you have no idea.” The way those eyes lit up with that sentence made him want to shower Liam with compliments every second of every day. He wasn’t hiding any emptiness. It was a relief to see brightness instead of emptiness for once.

At the same time Liam was about to open his mouth and utter something that was most likely earth shattering and precious, a shouted “Harry!” caught his attention.

Zayn and Niall had walked into the café and slipped into their booth with them. 


	6. Forever Young

Harry’s hand pulled away from Liam’s as Zayn sat next to him. Liam smiled at Niall; they were casual friends. Niall was the kind of guy you could hit up for a football game on the weekend, and he’d always be up for the trip. He was funny, in a dorky way. For a moment, Liam was uncomfortable with the situation. He was sitting at a table with Harry and two of his past hook-ups. There they were: completely okay without Harry to lean on. He wasn’t so sure that he’d be able to go on if Harry Styles were to disappear from his life.

It’s what made Liam different from them, though.

Breakfast with the two other boys ended up being incredibly pleasant. It wasn’t what Liam thought it would be, and he was surprised to find himself truly enjoying their company. Sure, he would have rather been alone with Harry, but the way Niall made them all laugh with the silly faces he made and the way Zayn spoke so intelligently made it okay. He understood why Harry had once loved Zayn so much, and his heart quickened with jealousy every time Harry’s eyes locked on Zayn’s lips as he spoke. Maybe his jealousy was obvious; he felt a leg intentionally brush against his under the table. It was as if Harry was reassuring him that he existed.

That touch made his entire existence relevant again.

“So I have an idea, boys,” Zayn said after taking a sip of his water. The three of them looked over at him, curious as to what he had to say. “Let’s have a boy’s night yeah? My family has a cabin up in the woods by the lake. Campfire, smores, the whole deal.” His smile was pleasant.

Niall grinned, his eyes brightly shining, “Sounds great to me.” Liam could see Niall’s infatuation, and it made him smile a little.

Harry wanted to go, and he wanted to spend a night looking up at the stars in the woods. Tall trees made him feel small, and they made his problems feel a bit smaller. His eyes found Liam’s and searched for a sign of agreement or dissent. He found himself breathing easier when Liam laughed at Niall’s jokes and smiled at the way Zayn talked. It was so easy to like Zayn; his eyes were calm and sincere and his slight shyness made him even more interesting. He remembered spending days on days wondering what was behind that interesting shyness, and he remembered how the taste of cigarettes would stay on his tongue for hours. He remembered everything, and he wasn’t sure if anyone in the entire world could keep themselves from falling in love with him. As he watched Niall across the table, he knew that the blonde haired boy hadn’t kept himself from falling at all.

Zayn had always been oblivious to the way people looked at him though, and it made it that much harder to keep yourself away from him.

“I’d love to go too,” Liam replied.

Nodding slightly, he looked over at Zayn, “I suppose I’m in too,” he replied. His grin became cheeky and dorky. He was thrilled, and he hid it the best he could. Just because he was chronically sad didn’t mean that some things didn’t make him unrealistically happy, like the way sunlight falls through his expensive curtains and the smell of pine trees in the summer. It was the things that came without money that made his life worth living. He felt like Liam would be there without the money, and not many people had made him feel that way before. The only things people valued him for was the things they could use him for and the rumors they could spread about him.

With that, they finished up their breakfast together, made plans to meet at the Styles residence later, and left the little café.

Their bags were shoved into the trunk of Niall’s massive range rover. Zayn had invited his friend Louis to tag along, so the five of them squeezed into the car to drive out to the Malik family cabin. “Can we go skinny dipping?” Harry asked from the back seat. His voice was calm and his hands folded in his lap. There was all the seriousness in the worldin his voice.

Niall laughed, “You’re so dumb,” He teased, “Do you honestly just wait for your next opportunity to be naked?”  
  
Smirking a little, Harry shrugged, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Liam rolled his eyes, smiling all the same. He didn’t mind though; he wasn’t going to argue with the idea of seeing that naked, tattooed body again. The ride was filled with more pointless conversation, the kind that only boys can have; in his opinion, Louis proved to be very funny, and Harry continuously was stretching his arms to pinch him, or poke him, or tickle him during the car ride. It would be enough to drive a normal person insane.

The wood cabin was really quite beautiful. He could tell that Zayn’s mother had meticulously decorated each and every square inch of the cabin to make it homey and relaxing. He always admired the Malik family; they seemed to be the closest out of the wealthier families in town. They had always seemed to be perfect, but when Zayn’s sister was hospitalized for anorexia, they started thinking about moving. Only months later, they did. The Malik family was gone, and all that remained was the new battle of families to become the ‘perfect’ family. Harry’s parents stood no chance whatsoever; not with their son surrounded by rumors and imperfections. Liam’s parents, however, were obsessed with appearing perfect, and he thought that sometimes that’s why his parents taught him to be so mercilessly polite. They assumed he’d be their prize some day.

There was an excitement in the air, and the summer sun’s intensity made them all drip with sweat from a car ride that lasted a little bit too long. Zayn started to mix drinks while the other boys unloaded the car, changed into swim trunks, and jumped into the water. Harry refused to wear swim trunks, and they all groaned playfully and made fun of him. Louis told him he hoped a fish got curious, and sure enough, a fish eventually did. Harry screamed and hurriedly put swim trunks on, and Niall cried because he laughed so hard.

Liam couldn’t recall ever seeing Harry look so happy, and his dimples seemed more prominent. They spent the whole afternoon splashing around in the lake, pushing and squirting water at each other. Zayn couldn’t really swim, so he would wade in the shallow part of the water wary of the depths and wary of the fish. All the while, Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Harry would drink and drink and drink.

The sun started to go down, but the alcohol warmed them from the inside. It was a whole new world out here; there weren't any ghostly maids wandering around, wiping up their messes, and silently scolding them for their loud voices. Liam crafted them a fire in the cabin’s fire pit. None of them changed their clothes, they just sat around in their swim trunks with towels wrapped around them to dry the water off. Crickets chirped in the distance. They laughed at Louis’ inappropriate jokes, and smiled while they made their smores. Liam found himself roasting Harry’s marshmallow for him because Harry couldn’t sit still or pay attention to much. He had reached the stage of drunken silliness.

“Sing with me Liam,” Harry said, wrapping his arm around the other boy’s shoulders. He’d had enough alcohol to turn into a performer, and he was determined not to perform alone.

Liam laughed a little, “What are we singing?”  
  
“Forever Young,” Harry responded, drunkenly grinning. He simply jumped right into singing, and he didn’t even bother starting at the beginning of the song, _“Forever young, I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever?”_

_“Forever young,”_ Liam chimed in, singing with Harry’s perfect raspy voice. _“Some are like water, some are like the heat. Some are a melody and some are the beat. Sooner or later they all will be gone. Why don't they stay young?_ " They sang together, and the other boys smiled as they did.

At one point, Liam caught Louis’ eyes locking with his from across the fire. The red flames seemed to make them look even bluer, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen eyes look like so blue before. Pulling away from the gaze, he looked up at Zayn as he lit a cigarette in the fire, humming along then eventually giving in to singing the song Harry had insisted on singing.

Niall strummed an imaginary guitar, and began to sing along. Eventually, Louis was sucked in and started to sing with the others as well. That moment could have gone on forever. It was only later on that Liam realized how much that song meant, and it was only later on that he realized just how much Harry wanted to be forever young.

Being young was all they knew how to be good at, the five of them. They were young, and rich, and had everything in the world that they would never need. Sometimes it felt like the world was looking at them, waiting for them to do something to deserve the money they were born into. They were just five normal boys; they just wanted to sit around a campfire and drunkenly sing a song together.

All they wanted was to feel like they were normal, and they each had different ways of trying to find that feeling. Whether it be drugs, or alcohol, or sex, they feigned feelings every day. Harry Styles feigned the most feelings of them all and tried everything under the sun to make himself feel loved.

No amount of intoxication could make him feel the way he felt with his arm wrapped around Liam, and if that was what love was then love wasn’t as unattainable as he thought.


	7. Hey Sport

The night had gone on; they looked up at the stars and told stories around the fire. They grew tired, and Harry was hardly sober enough to keep himself awake or walk the distance to the cabin’s living room where a cozy spot on the couch had been prepared and waiting for him to give up for the night. His face was nuzzled into Liam’s neck, and his skin was gold from the firelight. It made the moles on his body more obvious, and they left tiny shadows on his golden skin. The shadow that fell underneath his lips made them appear even more irresistible.

By then, Niall and Zayn had gone in for the night. Louis and Liam had remained talking while Harry dozed off on Liam’s strong shoulder. “We’d better head off to bed,” Liam yawned and lightly shook Harry. “C’mon, it’s bed time,” he said. Harry merely lifted his hand and put it to Liam’s lips as if to shush him.

Louis laughed quietly, “He’s like a little kid, you know. He makes you want to take care of him.”  
  
Smiling a little, Liam nodded, “Yeah, I know. He’s crazy though, and he makes it hard to take care of him.” Harry’s fingers tapped his lips again, shushing him once more. He rolled his eyes and gave in. He slipped one arm underneath Harry’s legs and the other behind his back then lifted him up. Harry curled up into his chest, and Louis couldn’t help but to wish that he knew what it was like to be lifted up and held close like that. He’d never met Liam before that day, but it fascinated him that someone could seem so perfect. He was level-headed, as compared to the rest of them. He wondered how that was even possible.

As Liam carried him in, Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck. He breathed in the smell of lake water and Liam’s cologne. He was comforted by those smells, and he sighed happily to himself. He’d never leave that embrace if he didn’t have to, but Liam placed him on the couch. He was forced to let go and wrap himself around a pillow instead. “Hey,” he said quietly, “My dad comes home tomorrow. I want you to meet him.” He seemed to be in his own world half the time.

Liam nodded a little, “Okay, I’ll come meet your dad tomorrow. Good night,” he placed a kiss on his forehead and lie down on the other couch.

Niall and Zayn were curled up in a sleeping bag together on the floor, their breathing matching and every so often a little sigh would come out of Niall’s lips as they slept. Louis stepped over them and wrapped himself up in his own sleeping bag on the floor, near the couch Liam was on. By now, Harry had completely passed out, and it was just the two of them awake.

“Hey, Liam,” Louis whispered, unable to sleep despite the comfort he found in the well-decorated Malik cabin. The only light was star shine, but he heard as Liam shifted a little to look down at him from the couch.

“Yeah, Louis?” Liam whispered back.

Louis bit his lip a little and held back what he really wanted to say, “Good night, sleep well.”  
  
“Good night, I hope you sleep well too.”

The morning rolled around, and Louis woke up first. He wasn’t the type to wait around for everyone to wake up, so he jumped around the room causing commotion until everyone had groaned and given in. Harry’s curly hair stuck up in strange positions. He yawned as he stretched. Niall rubbed his eyes then looked at Zayn, “What’s for breakfast?”  
  
“You’re so dumb,” Harry teased, “Do you honestly just wait for your next opportunity to be fed?” He flashed another one of those smiles, the one he had when he thought himself terribly clever. Afterwards, he got up and began to make the other boys and himself omelettes for breakfast. They were surprisingly very good, and Liam couldn’t help but to wonder how he had learned to cook anything when he was never required to cook for himself. Liam couldn’t make anything but toast, and even then, he usually burnt the bread.

Harry and Zayn slept most of the car ride home. Both of them still tired from being woken up too early. Upon arriving at the Styles residence, the other boys got into their cars and drove home. Harry was sad to see them go, but a grin spread across his face when he saw a rental car in the driveway. He excitedly rushed upstairs.

“Dad, I’m so glad you’re home, I-” Harry stopped mid-sentence. As he walked into his father’s room, he saw one of the maids packing another bag for him. His father stood in the corner of the room on his phone and lifted a finger to tell Harry to wait a minute. Harry waited; he stood, leaning against the doorway, with his eyes resting on his father’s bags on the bed. His heart was breaking and crumbling, and his dad didn’t notice. He just lifted a finger and silenced the world around him.

After hanging up, his father walked over to him, “Hey sport, sorry I can’t be home for long. I’ve got a very important meeting in China tomorrow. I know you understand, though.” He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “I’ll be back in a few weeks after I check out all the factories over there. I’ve got to get the money for this house somewhere, don’t I?”

He forced a small smile onto his face and nodded, “Yeah, of course. I understand. It was nice to see you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his father’s phone began to ring again. He pulled away to answer the phone, lifting his finger once again.

His hand reached into his pocket, and he took out a wad of cash then handed it to Harry. Whispering so as not to disturb his phone conversation, he said, “Here’s some money, take out a girl on a nice date or something.”  
  
Feebly, Harry took it and shoved it in his pocket, “Yeah, okay.” He turned away, biting his lip. Mentally, he repeated to himself over and over and over again that he didn’t care. No, he didn’t care at all. His father could stay in China. He didn’t care. Less than an hour later, Mr. Styles the business man was gone again. It was just Harry and all the ghosts.

The cash his father gave him only purchased more drugs, and he was so far gone by the time Liam found him in the garage. He had a joint perched in between his lips and a baseball bat clutched in his fingers. “What are you doing?” The concern in Liam’s voice was evident and obvious. He didn’t know why he asked because he knew exactly what Harry was doing; he was erupting.

"My dad left," He responded, dropping the joint to the ground and squashing it with his shoe. His eyes were filled with anger and frustration. With one fluid motion, Harry crashed the baseball bat right through the front window of the red jaguar. The noise it made as it crashed was nearly deafening. He beat the doors and he hit the rearview mirror off the car. Small tears welled up in his marijuana eyes. They were red: maybe from the drugs or maybe from the tears. Liam couldn’t have told you which it was. All he knew was that he had never seen someone hurt so badly, and it terrified him.

Seventeen years of self-hatred and hatred for his parents poured out. Harry beat that car to a pulp because that car symbolized everything his father was. It was flashy, expensive, and utterly useless. Its worth came from its body and prestige; any other car could have gotten them from point A to point B. They had to have the jaguar. They just _had_ to have the jaguar, but they were never home to drive it. Screaming out, he broke every window in the car.

Afterwards, he dropped the bat. It clinked on the garage concrete. He crumbled into a pile on the broken glass that littered the ground. It crunched underneath him. He put his knees to his face and sobbed. He sobbed so hard that he choked slightly on the air that refused to be welcomed in by his lungs. His body was so sad that it was refusing to breathe. Liam swallowed hard, walked over to him, and put a hand lightly on his shoulder, “I’m so sorry, Harry…” His eyes examined the red car, beat beyond recognition, and he realized he would never drive it again. The way Harry looked in that passenger seat only a day before felt like a distant memory. That car was dead, and Harry looked half-dead himself.   
  
Harry didn’t look up. He kept his face in his knees. “Why don’t my parents love me, Liam?” It was more pain than Liam had ever heard in a voice before. “Why don’t my parents fucking love me?” Those red eyes finally looked up at Liam, begging for an answer. Harry wished he was on the roof on a summer morning. He wished the sun was shining down on his skin and the breeze was blowing just right. He wished it was someone’s birthday, and he wished he had a book to read. He wished he had any reason at all not to die. Even in the presence of brown eyes and feeling that hand on his shoulder, he felt so incredibly empty. His father was genetically programmed to love him, yet he couldn't. Even the term of endearment 'sport' was an empty term. He called interns at his office 'sport.' Harry meant nothing more to him than those nervous people with ironed button down white shirts pacing from cubicle to cubicle.

He meant nothing, and he felt nothing. His exhaustion from destroying the jag had left him nearly crippled. Liam leaned down and picked him up, as he did the night before. Harry bit his lip so hard it cracked and began to bleed. He buried his face into Liam's chest, and his tears left little water patches on Liam's nice t-shirt that smelt like his cologne. 


	8. Just Wanted to Heal Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long, have had lots of awful things going on. Wanted to get back into writing and finish this for the people who have enjoyed it! I hope it's alright xx

With pitifully sad brown eyes, Liam picked Harry up and carried him out of the garage. It was funny how such a lanky boy could be held like a baby, arms wrapped around Liam and face pressed into his chest. He was so good at pretending to be grown up, but he was so young. He was so innocent despite all his efforts not to be.

There was nothing but silence now; the sound of shattering glass became a distant memory. The sound of screaming still burned in Liam’s ears, though. He tried his best to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes, but with Harry in his arms, he was unable to wipe them away. A small drop fell on Harry’s cheek. Furrowing his brows, Harry looked up at Liam and used his thumb to wipe the tears away.

They continued to say nothing at all, knowing there were no words to say. Harry felt ashamed of his outbreak of pain, and he felt responsible for all of the hurt. It was always him; none of his relationships ever worked. The common denominator was him, and he knew it. He was waiting for the eventual moment when Liam would see him the way everyone else did. Maybe it was Harry’s mental disorders or maybe it was Harry’s exhaustion that made him think this way. It didn’t matter why. All that mattered was that he was hell bent on keeping that moment as far into the future as he possibly could.

Liam had carried Harry to his bedroom, placed him on the bed, and stood in front of him. Harry’s green eyes looked up at those brown eyes of his. Two hands slipped under his shirt, but the eye contact never broke. His skin tingled when Harry touched him, and he almost felt like fainting when he was pulled into a kiss that left him gasping for breath between hands slipping over his back and over his chest.

Harry was sure to trace every muscle on Liam; he had admired them so much he felt the need to feel them. His body and his mind hurt, and he knew that he needed to feel something sacred, something holy. Liam Payne’s body was the closest thing to holy or sacred that he had ever seen before, and maybe he felt like it would heal him.

Maybe Liam just wanted to heal him.

Their breathing quickened as they went. Liam climbed onto the bed, feeling Harry pressed beneath him as they continued to kiss. Fingers became tangled in his hair, and one hand ran down Harry’s chest, gripping the fabric. It was like that t-shirt was trespassing. It was an unwelcome guest to the party. He wanted it gone, but he was scared at the same time.

If this was all Harry wanted from him, they’d be over by next week. The thought terrified him, but the craving to feel the heat of another body was too overwhelming to listen to the voices in his head chanting his fears over and over again. He pulled the t-shirt over Harry’s head, breaking that kiss just for a moment. Harry’s eyes opened into his, and he felt fire in the pit of his stomach.

The two hands that had been tracing muscles pulled Liam’s shirt off as well. Harry’s lips lightly met Liam’s collar bones. Liam closed his eyes, bringing his lips to kiss the top of Harry’s head; his fingers were tangled in that curly brown hair he had found himself falling in love with. His heart raced a million miles an hour.

With his hips so close to Liam’s, Harry could feel him. It was a familiar event but not a familiar feeling. He had never felt so in love with skin before. He had never felt as painfully aware of a pelvis pressed to his own as he did in that moment. It was if he wanted Liam naked always. Something about this body felt like it should be a religion, and his kisses were like whispered prayers at the temple. This body, and this body alone, was worthy of a shrine, and Harry felt inferior in its presence.

He could hold back no longer, slipping his hands to the zipper of Liam’s jeans. Biting his lip, Liam couldn’t help but to press into that touch. His body felt like it was pulsating. He brought Harry’s face back up to his own, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. His jeans ended up lightly kicked to the bottom of the bed. Harry couldn’t help but to smile as Liam pulled his pants off of him. The sound of Liam’s heavy breathing in his ear was driving him insane.

Every touch of Liam’s was delicate. After seeing Harry crack the way he had, it was like he was trying not to break him. Harry Styles was a mirror; sure, he was glass, but he wasn’t transparent. Somehow, that didn’t make him any harder to break. He was still fragile, and Liam knew he was. Soon, he would learn just how fragile Harry’s skin really was.

“Are you ready Harry?” His voice shook. His eyes filled to the brim with this passionate, aching love. He’d become slippery with lube and sweat, and his inexperience was filling his mind with doubt.

Biting his lip, unable to catch his breath enough to speak, Harry nodded. His eyes clenched shut and he let out a gasp when Liam thrust into him. He held onto Liam’s back, and every time he shouted “oh my god” he was just praising the deity of his new religion. Now, Liam Payne was the closest thing to holy that he had ever felt.

Their body’s tangled, sheets were clenched in their fists, and profanities were mumbled under their breaths. They came together, and instead of crawling away and cleaning himself up, Harry gripped Liam. He held onto him for dear life and listened to his heart pound wildly in his chest. Liam held him back, and as they both recovered, neither said a word.

Harry had found his breath again, and he was having a hard time keeping himself from speaking. He wanted to tell the world that he was capable of love. He wanted everyone to know that Liam was like God to him. He wanted anyone to know that he was so incredibly happy, but he wanted Liam to be happy too. He was too scared to say the words out loud without knowing they were returned. With a small, curious voice, he whispered, “Do you love me, Liam?”

Harry’s voice was breathy in his ear, and as much as Liam wanted to say yes, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Love is a big commitment, you know…” he replied. He felt Harry pull away from his ear and sink back into the bed next to him instead of sinking into his arms. “We’re only seventeen, anyways. What do you and I know about love?” It was a cop-out. He knew it was, and the words felt horrible as they rolled off his tongue.

Harry didn’t respond, and the silence was painful. His green eyes surveyed the ceiling all the while his mind raced over thoughts of love. Liam was right, after all. What did he know about love? Not much. Love was this distant idea that he couldn’t quite grasp no matter how close it seemed to float in front of him. Everyone seemed to think they knew all about love, and everyone seemed to think they knew everything about him. They were the ones who were right. He knew nothing about love, and they knew he didn’t. For the first time in a long time, Liam had become one of them. Over the last couple months, it had been him and Liam, and everyone else.

As the night went on, his eyes stopped examining the ceiling and began examining the inside of his eyelids. No matter how long he lie there with his eyes shut, sleep refused to come. Liam was everything to him, and he had realized it. If he were to fight it, he would be fighting the very center of his gravity. Liam’s brown eyes had become the sun to him, and he would orbit those eyes forever if he could. Lying there, he finally felt a connection to the rest of the human race. He was sure if someone were to look at him in that moment that he would appear to be a ghost, just like everyone else.

His eyes would look to the future; a future where Liam Payne loved him. It occurred to him that it didn’t matter how long it took, and it didn’t matter how many times he had to climb down from the roof. His heart was set on becoming the person Liam deserved. The reliance on drugs had to end. While Liam slept beside him, he decided all of this. Trying to be quiet, he rose from bed.

As efficiently and silently as possible, he emptied every hiding spot. He washed the cocaine down the sink, and watched as the water carried it away. That was the easier drug to destroy; he hardly ever used it unless he was drunk out of his mind. He stared down his marijuana stash. It was the fruits of his parent’s hard earned money. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and assured himself that there were other things in the world that would take the pain away. He put it down the garbage disposal then turned it on.

The grinding sound of the buds being disintegrated rang in his ears, and he hoped the sound from the kitchen hadn’t carried up to his bedroom and into the ears of his future. He took another deep breath then returned to the bed. His lanky arms wrapped around Liam’s body, and although he knew Liam was asleep, his tired voice whispered, “I love you.” Finally, he was able to sleep when his eyes closed. The sound of their heartbeats and sighing breaths created a harmony that turned into a sweet lullaby.


	9. Gravity's Fingers

About a week had passed since that night. They had attended Harry’s aunt’s wedding all day. The bar was open, and no one even bothered to stop the suave seventeen year old boy from taking as many drinks as he wanted. Harry grew sillier every hour. He giggled and danced like a dad flailing his arms and looking foolish. He smiled, and Liam smiled.

After the reception, Harry insisted on bringing Liam back to the house with him. He knew he shouldn’t have let Harry drive in the state he was in, but he couldn’t get the keys out of his hands. The ride was surprisingly smooth, and Liam wondered how many times Harry had driven intoxicated before. The Porsche was black, and the windows were all rolled down. Little whips of wind ruffled their curls. Being in the front seat of that car was almost like being free.

They were only seventeen with everything in the world to look forward to. Liam’s eyes began to fill with thoughts of the future. He never realized Harry’s eyes would never look at the future the way that he had. He never once caught a glimpse of it. Sometimes he supposed Harry had no belief in growing old. He’d be seventeen forever, or at least, at heart he would be. That’s what Liam thought.

When they arrived, it was strangely quiet for being the Styles home. Liam felt like they were alone, really alone. Never before had he felt that way with Harry. It set his skin on fire especially with Harry looking so handsome in his suit and tie. “I want to show you something,” Harry said, grabbing Liam’s arm, “Come with me.” Something in his voice made Liam think that he should say no, but those green eyes made him trust it. Those lips and those green eyes could get him to do anything and go anywhere, so he followed Harry up the flights of stairs, out the bedroom window, and up to the roof.

The view was unlike anything he had seen before. Moonlight showered down on them; it was almost as bright as day outside. City lights illuminated what stretches of land the moonlight couldn’t. Between man-made and god-made beauty, it was difficult to think there could be anything wrong in the world. The pristine grass and hedges masked the state of the people who lived surrounded by perfection. “Do you remember when you asked me where my parents are?” He heard the words come out of Harry’s mouth, and he looked over at him. Harry’s arms were crossed over his chest as he looked out over the same landscape.

The world wasn’t as beautiful to him, and Liam could tell. What he saw on that rooftop was a much uglier sight than what Liam saw. The moonlight and city lights didn’t dance across green pastures and hedges; it descended from heaven and revealed every imperfection of his life. The perfect gardens weren’t perfect at all, not really. The parties, the drugs, and the alcohol never made him perfect. They only helped him breathe a little easier. Money was drowning him. Loneliness was drowning him. “Yeah,” Liam said, sad to see the world the way Harry did.

“My mom’s in the Bahamas with her girlfriend, and my dad is in France with his.” Harry laughed a little when he answered. His eyes looked down at his feet, and his voice became small, for the first time, “I just wanted someone to know the truth.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around Harry. He wanted to kiss him and tell him that everything would be okay and that parents weren’t the most important thing in the world. He wanted to tell him he loved him even if they didn’t. The words got caught in his throat, though. Liam was too nervous to utter any of those words out loud for fear that Harry would replace him with someone with less emotion and permanence. He was nearly positive that Harry was never interested in the concept of forever. Why would he be? There wasn’t a marriage that he had witnessed in all seventeen years of his life that even resembled the concept of forever. What was the point in love if it always ended?

He didn’t know how much Harry loved him, and Harry had found himself too scared to tell him. He’d been clean for a week; no drugs. None at all. That night had been the first night he had drank alcohol, too. Little by little, he was proving that being seventeen didn’t mean you didn’t know anything about love. Harry knew all he needed to know of love.

After several calm footsteps, Harry stood at the ledge of the roof, closed his eyes, and put out his arms, “I’ll jump,” he said, voice cutting through the air, “Do you think they sew wings on tailored suits?” He smiled, thinking himself clever. Always, he thought himself so clever.

Liam shook his head while frowning; he wasn’t impressed, “Get back over here, you’re not funny.” It made him nervous to see Harry so close to falling; even if the words refused to be said, he loved Harry Styles too much. Even when he was erupting and breaking down, Liam loved him. Harry was more beautiful than any amount of moonlight. That brown hair that he’d held in his fingers many times before lightly blew in the breeze. It was like peace was perched on that roof ledge, and Harry had found it.  
  
Opening his green eyes and turning around to face Liam, his smile revealed his state of mind: he was at peace. He barely needed convincing of staying alive at all. Even in a drunken stupor, he wanted to be alive. He was just going to walk back up to safety. He was heading away from the ledge, but the alcohol left him clumsy. He lost his footing, and gravity grabbed him from behind. The ground had invisible arms. His green eyes went wide upon the realization that he was falling off the roof. The irony, he thought, of only being able to survive when someone wants to die. That’s the trick, and he always knew it. The best way to protect yourself was to want to die, and the worst way was to want to live.

 “Harry!” Liam yelled and jumped to help him, grabbing onto the suit sleeve. For a brief moment, he was relieved, but the sound of ripping fabric followed. Perhaps the tailor hadn’t sewn that suit sleeve well enough. The sleeve ripped, and Harry fell. Gravity’s fingers clutched him tight.

A small gasp escaped his lips. His two green eyes closed once again, and he prepared to feel the crash. For three years, he had stood at the top of that roof, daring himself to jump and never once slipping. Now, there was no jump. There was no decision, just acceptance. His body fell hard to the concrete patio. There was a thud. A pool of blood gathered around him.

Liam screamed; his scream was so loud it was if he was the one who had fallen. Panicking, he dialed 911. His voice shook, and they could hardly understand a word he said. He pleaded with the operator: “Please help him, please.”

No matter how many fire trucks or ambulances showed up, there was no saving him. They tried; Liam rode with him to the hospital, holding his hand and kissing it, and repeated over and over again, “I love you, Harry. I love you, and I should have told you…I love you.” The machines connected to him clicked and buzzed, and the robot pumping oxygen into his bleeding, broken body wheezed. It was as if everything around him was suffocating on the very air they were breathing.

The waiting room was cold. Their air conditioning had been running constantly. Goosebumps covered Liam’s skin, and he couldn’t decide if it was because he was cold or just because he was scared. He looked strange to the others in there: wearing his suit and tie. Impatiently, he sat. He tapped his foot on the floor and watched the clock. Harry couldn’t die. Liam just knew Harry couldn’t die, so he waited. He waited while doctor after doctor tried to save him. “He’s gone,” they said, and Liam sobbed.

He went out to the hospital parking lot and he screamed and cried until he couldn’t breathe. His hands that once felt warm tattoed and freckled skin beneath them gripped his hair. When he caught his breath, he screamed again. There were no words to explain his anguish; only those screams could suffice. People around him stared, and some people even cried. They looked to each other, asking the nurses what had happened. Some would mutter prayers under their breath, some would be struck by silence.

His screaming rang in everyone’s ears. The strength in his body was completely gone, and he collapsed to the ground. His face pressed to his knees. Cars drove around him, honking from inconvenience. Liam couldn’t move. His grief had paralyzed him. It was all his fault, he thought it was at least. His parents showed up, and his father picked him up like he was still a little boy, placing him in the backseat of their car. He was still a little boy, though: a little boy with no words to say and no ability to feel his own skin.

“Dad,” Liam whimpered.

With apologetic eyes, he looked back at his son, “Yeah Liam?”  
  
“I loved him,” Liam responded. His eyes traced the outlines of cars as he stared out the window. The tears just wouldn’t stop. Everything was wet: his face, neck, hands, and shirt. “I just wanted someone to know the truth.”


	10. With Wings and That Cherub Face

The funeral came sooner than Liam realized it would, yet no amount of time seemed to get the images out of his head. After he slipped into his suit and tied his tied, he found himself staring into his own eyes in the mirror. They were red from tears that were taking refugee in his tear ducts; the paleness of his face illuminated by the redness of his nose and eyes. He’d sobbed so hard his nose had become raw. This wasn’t a pretty sadness.

He was so far from being pulled together enough to face the world. Some people blamed him. No one had to tell him, but he knew the truth. The world was full of people who could blame the whole thing on him. His fingers ran over his silk tie, pulling the knot tighter. For a brief moment, he debated pulling even tighter. Suffocation by tie: what a way to die. He lifted his arms only slightly, and mumbled to himself, “Do they sew wings on tailored suits?”

No, there are no wings on tailored suits.

The service was closed casket, and he was glad that it was. The people around him didn’t deserve to wish Harry goodbye, not when they didn’t care at all about him when he was alive. There were people there that had spread rumors about Harry all throughout high school. They were dressed in black with tears on their faces claiming to have lost someone they deeply cared about and respected. All the while, Harry’s parents wore faces of grief: playing the role of loving parents only now that they had lost their only son.

Harry’s mother had her hand intertwined with Harry’s father's hand. Each of them accepted condolence upon condolence from strangers not only to them, but strangers to their son. Even after he had died, he could draw a crowd. Everyone had always been looking to be a part of the fame. They wanted to ride in his shiny cars, drink his expensive liquor, and snort his cocaine. They wanted Rock ‘N Roll. They wanted the things that Harry was willing to give them. Their tears were not for Harry. The tears only began to slip down their faces once they had realized the ride was over.

It made Liam sick. The whole thing made his stomach uneasy. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears. His mind wandered off, and he thought of those nights he’d spent this summer. He remembered how the bonfire had lit Harry’s face, and he remembered the intensity of Harry’s eyes when he took that baseball bat to the jag. Harry had always felt like he was surrounded by ghosts, and Liam used to tell him he was wrong. Now though, as he looked at the people in black, pretending they were hurt, pretending they didn’t know how sad he was, pretending they cared about more than just the parties and the drugs and the money, he felt like maybe Harry was right all along. Maybe these people were just ghosts.

Somehow he survived the service. Somehow he made it through the words of the pastor, the faint sound of people blowing their noses and wiping away tears, and the countless amount of times Harry’s name pierced the air. Somehow he survived all of that, but the night made him weak.

The stars had him thinking about eternity, and the reality was that eternity didn’t belong to him and Harry anymore. There was no future to look forward to. There was a star in the sky for every day he’d have to go without him, and that made him crazy. Still in his suit, he climbed out his bedroom window and climbed down. He crawled into the driver’s seat of his car and left.

It was so late, but he knew that Harry’s parents were gone; they were always gone. He drove right up to the house, and the night maid let him in. She’d gotten so use to his presence that it was like second nature to open the door and say “Good evening, Mr. Payne.” Watching her eyes as she said the words, he realized how Harry had felt. No one ever looked him in the eye. They were always looking somewhere else.

After maneuvering through hallways and up the stairs, he found himself in that bedroom. Everything was the way Harry had left it besides the clothes that had been picked up off the floor, washed, neatly folded, and put away. His CDs still lined his desk and his window was still slightly cracked. Liam furrowed his brows, lifted the window open, and climbed out of it.

He found himself standing on the edge of the roof, looking out at the city lights, and when he looked below, the concrete patio had been scrubbed clean. There wasn’t a trace of blood left. There wasn’t any evidence that Harry had been there at all. He closed his eyes and felt the cold September breeze hit every inch of his skin and make his hair stand up. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but to wonder about jumping. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to himself and sat down. His legs kicked the empty air as he sat. “I can’t fucking kill myself just because I miss him.”

Shaking his head and refusing to be the second person to find death on that patio, he climbed back into the bedroom. He closed the window tightly behind him, locking it, and saying goodbye to that rooftop: never to be enchanted or haunted by that view again. His heart ached and he curled up into Harry’s bed. The sheets still smelt like him. It was almost like he was still there in that room with tattooed skin and unruly, curly hair. Smiling to himself, Liam pulled the sheets in closer, wrapping himself up in the familiar fabric. For the first time since that awful night, he’d been calm enough to sleep.

When his eyes opened, he half expected to see green eyes. The sunlight dripped in through designer curtains. He noticed a little notebook on Harry’s nightstand. It was unusual because he had never seen or noticed it before, yet it seemed used, well-loved even. Someone had worn out the binding and spilt tea on the pages. Someone had left pieces of their identity in this notebook. His hand reached over and his eyes ran over the pages, reading every intimate confession, dream, and story.

Harry still lived in that notebook, and Liam found himself smiling, really, genuinely smiling. Their summer together was chronicled in those pages, and all day Liam read every thought of the only person he had ever really been fascinated by before. The maids, ghost-like women with eyes to the ground, just cleaned around him. It was not in their business to bother him, and he had always done his best not to bother them. They were gone just as soon as they came, and once they had left, the room was vacuumed, dusted, and a little less of Harry remained.

Upon reaching the last page and failing to catch a few tears before they fell to the page slightly smearing the ink, he knew. He knew that Harry really loved him, too. He wished he told him, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He wished he could hold him, and kiss him, and hide him away from the rest of the world, but he really, truly knew there was absolutely nothing he could do. There was this loneliness inside of him, though, that ached and gnawed at his insides.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The text read: _‘Hey mate, it’s Louis, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. If you need me, anytime at all, call me okay? I’m worried about you.’_

In that moment, he really was sure that Harry Styles was an angel with wings and that cherub face. Even when he was dead and gone, he’d never leave Liam not taken care of. Liam clutched the notebook in his hand and prepared himself to leave after texting Louis back: _‘Meet me for breakfast?’_

 _‘Absolutely.’_ Louis replied.

Liam climbed out of the familiar sheets, thankful to still have a heart beat that could race, lips that could speak, and hands that could hold. Everything was fragile, and the world looked so different through Harry Styles’ eyes. That was the greatest and worst gift he had ever given Liam: the ability to see the world with all its pain, evil, and suffering. There was truth in the fragile state of things, yet there was beauty too. The world might have been awful and unforgiving, but he wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be more than just another scratch on the surface of the planet. He had a notebook and a heart full of love; he was going to be okay.

Although it might have seemed like it from the outside, they weren’t just two super rich kids spending the summer together. They were more than their parent’s reputations and monetary comforts. They were learning how to live, learning how to die, and most of all learning how to fall in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3 I'm thinking of making a lilo sequel to this, thoughts? please? xx


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